six foot baby goes mobile textorz

So I got this new phone which will make my posts here more frequent and will also make me one of those motherfuckers typing shit with their thunbs in the fucking metro. Look forward to it!

Review: 6/17/09 at 9:30

Drums of Death: Do you know any Rattler?

Peaches:

a.) Rocked

b.) is 41?

c.) should have started before midnight on a wednesday?

d.) all of the above

Can This Man Toss Your Salad?

The Flower of Aryan Manhood

Most and Least Favorite Bits of Alphabet Soup

Most:

DMT

2CE

ACR

Least:

DHS

DEA

CIA

Review: Berghain/Panorama Bar

A friend of mine reminded me of the existence of Berghain/Panorama Bar the other day, and I thought I should commit my memories of the place to a more enduring medium than my brain.

Berghain is not my favorite club in Berlin, but it was (and hopefully is) an epic place.  Before I went clubbing in Berlin, it was what I imagined a club in Berlin should be like.  Located in a former east German factory, it is enormous, intense, drugged out, and perverse.  It was the place you would go to at 7am when all other options were exhausted.  It had started out as a gay club, but everybody parties together in Berlin, so by the time I got there, it was maybe 50/50.  The top floor (Panorama Bar) would be mostly straight, and the further down you went, the weirder it would get.  The main floor would be mostly gay, a pit full of people and light with a bar off to one side where shirtless men would cruise each other.  Another level down has dark rooms, where a friend of mine apparently fucked some dude in the ass at 10am one pleasant sunday morning.  In the lowest level, and I only know about this by hearsay, is the Lab.oratory.  Another friend said he once found the door to this place by accident, and then couldn’t resist showing me the website.  Periodically one runs into the stereotype about hardcore german sex clubs.  This is the real deal.

Despite its reputation as one of the most debauched places in Berlin, it was often fiendishly difficult to buy drugs there.  Most of the time one came away empty handed, and nasty things could happen to you.  A friend of mine got roofied one time, and to hear his girlfriend tell it, would have been sexually assaulted had she not dragged him out of the club.  I bought pills there one time with a friend.  He had found the guy and negotiated the price.  After handing over my money, the dealer raised his hand as if he was going to put the pill on my tongue.  Normally I wouldn’t have consented to this, but it was a seller’s market, so I opened my mouth, only to have some alkaline liquid sprayed down my throat.  The guy disappeared into the crowd and I turned to my friend to ask him what the hell.  He looked at me and said “I’ve got the pills in my pocket.  He said he would give us some GHB for free.”  My first response was panic.  I had been drinking.  I really didn’t want to end this night in a coma/ambulance.  My second response was WHAT. THE. FUCK.  Fortunately the GHB kicked in pretty quickly and I stopped stressing.  Nonetheless, unintentionally doing drugs is not cool.

Berghain for me epitomizes that part of Berlin culture that makes partying for three days without sleep (the legendary three day weekend) seem like a possibly sensible proposition.  I heard stories about people who would go out saturday night, make it to Berghain around 2am sunday morning, stay there until sunday evening, go to GMF sunday night, spend the night there, take an ass-load of amphetamines monday morning, go to work, and crash out at 5:01pm monday.

Role Models: Baron Munchhausen

Like remember when Dick Cheney was Sultan of America?  I was one of his favorites in the court.  He even granted me access to his harem.  Lynn Cheney isn’t one of his wives, she’s just a body double he keeps around for security purposes.  (Like the sultan in Munchhausen, except nowadays America, and not the middle east is the seat of wealth, decadence, and cruel despotism.  get it?)

 

Have you ever been to the Ronald Reagan Building downtown?  Did you know that Marion Barry built it while he was mayor to honor Reagan’s steadfast commitment to anti-communists in Latin America?  It’s made entirely out of crack cocaine.  Seriously.  Try setting it on fire some time and inhale the fumes.

My Job

One of the things that I have accomplished at my job is that I have become one of the nation’s leading (academic) experts on methamphetamine. I know a lot. In fact, look at the following picture.

If the blue circle represents the set of all true facts about the manufacture, distribution and use of methamphetamine since its first known synthesis in 1894, then the fuchsia circle represents my knowledge. The space between the two circles is mostly made up of video evidence of Jesus Christ smoking ice with Adolf Hitler.

Sometimes You Want to React to a Fucked-Up Situation, But You’ve Done Too Many Drugs

So, living in Berlin a few years ago, and one Friday night me and my buddy are out drinking beer and smoking weed.  We decide to roll over to his place to watch a depressing movie or listen to the new wu-tang album or whatever, and I let on that I’m a little hungry.  We walk in to his apartment and he barks at his girlfriend “Hey! get us some sandwiches!”

Now I don’t really know the ins and outs of the debate over who can own the term “feminist”, whether this concept automatically excludes men, has certain ideological boundaries, or whatever.  But I consider myself a pretty egalitarian dude, and had I been sober, I would have spoken up and told my buddy he can’t treat his girlfriend like a servant.

As it turned out, it was a pretty good sandwich.

 

That’s a pretty mild example.  There are other situations that I actually feel some degree of guilt about to this day.  

 

One Saturday afternoon (I’m still in Berlin) me and my friends decided it was time to dip into our newly acquired 500mg bag of 2ce.  So we got our blankets, rolling tobacco, and a six pack together, dosed, and headed out to a secluded meadow in the middle of a forested park in the eastern outskirts of the city.  We rolled out our blankets, laid back, and started chain smoking to keep the bugs away.  We were in a nice low dose 2ce groove where we were high enough to be entertained by everything, but not dysfunctionally high.  Then the rave started at the other end of the meadow.  At first we tolerated their tasteless music and the smell of their vegan stew because they were selling us €.50 sternburgs, and we had already killed our six pack.  But as the music grew louder, our buzz started to get harshed.  Just as our tolerance was about to evaporate, the lizard man arrived.  Words can’t do this motherfucker justice.  I assume he is the kind of proto-hominid who use to populate europe some 100,000 years ago.  Dude was completely hairless and naked except for some fraying cargo shorts and a cowry shell necklace.  He came loping towards us with a manic grin on his face, a beer in one hand and a bong in the other.  He started regaling us with stories about all the drugs he did, and the massive stimulant binge he had recently finished off, and the peyote he was growing.  This was all good, I mean who doesn’t like a good story about getting fucked up?  As he continued to catalogue his voracious pill gobbling habits, his hangers-on showed up, two teenagers, who for the life of me looked like they were mentally retarded.  They started hopping up and down and clambering around in the trees, which was more than a little unsettling.  Without any kind of segue, the lizard man then announced that a month ago he had become a father, and before we could ask any questions or express astonishment or sorrow, he pointed out the mother of the child, who was coming across the meadow with a wagon in tow containing the hapless newborn.

 

HOLY. FUCKING. SHIT. THEY. BROUGHT. AN. INFANT. TO. THE. DRUG. ORGY.

 

I obviously don’t know the number for the german equivalent of child protective services, but really what good would it have done me?  

“Hello, German Socialist Baby Protection Hotline? Look, I’m too high to construct meaningful german sentences, so I’ll speak really slowly in english.  you need to call a baby sitter for these poor, hopeless drug addicts so that a year from now this baby won’t be spending its first birthday blowing ketamine lines off one of these dirty women with indian print skirts and jangly anklets.  Think of the children…”

<DIAL TONE>

“Oh Fuck it.”

 

Anyways, morally apathetic drug users are headed for a circle of hell between the usurers and the obese.  I hope the torment isn’t too bad.

A Cause Very Close to my Heart

http://www.petitiononline.com/WWFTKOC/petition.html

Adventures in the District Part I

Saw Booka Shade on wednesday.  Good dose of Berlin nostalgia.  There was one dude who was like “yeah we got drum machines, but have you checked out my fucking arms?  I’m gonna go crazy on this shit!” and the other dude was like “what the fuck am i doing onstage in front of all these people?  Guess I better play my keyboards.”  And yes, there was abstract video art.